


Pain and regret

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: AAAANGST, Angst, I will update as I go, M/M, all angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He watches as he claws his way through the crowd, screaming as his world shatters in front of him“That’s my friend-! Please..!”Sherlock watches, entranced and somber.He knows he is saving John, and Greg, and Mrs. Hudson.But at what cost?or, johnlock angst.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. watching someone’s heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watches as he tries to grapple his way upwards a few minutes later, gasping for breath and a sense of reality.  
> He watches as he claws his way through the crowd, screaming as his world shatters in front of him  
> “That’s my friend-! Please..!”  
> Sherlock watches, entranced and somber.  
> He knows he is saving John, and Greg, and Mrs. Hudson.  
> But at what cost?

Sherlock watches as John falls, having been hit by a biker.  
He watches as he tries to grapple his way upwards a few minutes later, gasping for breath and a sense of reality.  
He watches as he claws his way through the crowd, screaming as his world shatters in front of him  
“That’s my friend-! Please..!”  
Sherlock watches, entranced and somber.  
He knows he is saving John, and Greg, and Mrs. Hudson.  
But at what cost? 

He knows deep down in his heart John will never forgive him.  
But the rest of him wants to believe that John will, that John will embrace him with open arms and caress his cheek, muttering  
“I’m so glad your okay”  
He knows that won’t happen. 

He observes as his friend sinks to the ground, knees hitting the cold dirty pavement.  
He clutches a blue piece of fabric in his hand, holding it to his face.  
Tears fall softly, leaving darkened spots in the fabric of his jacket.  
Johns lips move but the other can’t hear him.  
The other man cannot hear that he whispered one word filled with so much meaning and sorrow  
“No”  
The denial of his death, the way he did it, his confession. The denial of it all.  
Little did he know it was the truth. 

Someone tugged at johns arms, pulling him up muttering apologies and offering him a hand.  
They walk away, the unknown person leading John away from the gruesome sight that will forever haunt his nightmares.  
the sight that will be plastered behind his eyelids for weeks. 

John looks back one last time at his friend.  
His friend, nothing more. 

Sherlock knows he ruined what could have been,  
The unspoken words and looks passed between them were broken, cast into the wind.  
The nights reading silently by the fire were forgotten, only this remained  
Only him, jumping off the roof, coat fluttering much prettier than needed in this scene.  
Only him admitting he was a fraud.  
Only him leaving John alone. 

All that is left is this moment in time, the only thing that matters is this.  
The rest is gone, never to be seen again.


	2. scars and repressed memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knows the pain that is memories, the sorrow that is remembering.   
> That’s why it pains him so much to ask this to Sherlock, but he has to do it

John knows the pain that is memories, the sorrow that is remembering.   
That’s why it pains him so much to ask this to Sherlock, but he has to do it

“Where did you get them?” 

Sherlock looks up, surprised.   
No one ever asked, they turned a blind eye, blocking it from their mind. They don’t want to know where they came from, or who made them, they would rather go about their lives without that information bogging them down.  
And Sherlock accepted that. 

He trusts John so he tells him 

“Various captures and- other things”   
He admits slowly, attempting to block out the flood of memories and thoughts cascading around his brain. 

John had a feeling that this was the case, when Sherlock “died” he was captured many times, tortured to get information.   
He did not think it was this many times. 

He looks closer at the other mans scars, some where faded while others where a harsh pink slash across his otherwise pale skin.  
They stood faint against his new wound, a small slit that John told the medics he could take care of at their flat, recognizing Sherlock wanted to leave.   
John observes the marks as he disinfected and bandages the injury. Some were jagged and painful to look at, as if someone did it with a broken piece of glass.   
Some were paired with small dots, indications of past stitches, while others stood alone.   
He had them on his shoulders, small ex’s and vs.   
he had pale and faded ones under each pectorals, they mirrored each other perfectly.   
John knew what this was from and was not concerned, but the rest of them concerned him immensely. 

“Where any of these cleaned?” He asks, almost afraid of the answer he might get. “Most” was all Sherlock responded with 

John traced his hands over the imperfections, some bumped while others lay flushed against his skin.  
Sherlock turned stony cold under the touch of the doctor, he froze and breathed shallowly   
There where bullet wounds littered in various places and large slashes across his torso. 

John retracts his hands when he realizes that Sherlock is shaking

He mutely pulls the taller man into a gentle embrace. 

He knows everyone needs comfort, no matter how hard they push against it.   
He whimpers softly as John mutters his thanks and comforting nothings. 

Sherlock focuses on Johns voice, the voice that is rough but smooth and soft at the same time.   
He closes his eyes and sits, attempting to steady himself.   
Fear is illogical he tells himself, you are safe. 

He slumps against the blond man and pushes against his touch, wanting more.   
John pets his fluffy black blue hair, carding his fingers through the waves and curls   
He is still whispering sweet soothing words to calm him.   
John presses a butterfly kiss against his scalp, one that someone could imagine never happened, a ghost of a touch. An accident.   
But this was no accident and the both of them knew this. 

Sherlock stiffened and sucked in a hasty breath, standing up abruptly and leaving, bare feet padding along the hardwood floor. 

They both reflected upon this moment in time as they sat in bed.   
Sherlock places soft fingers on the spot where johns lips were, obsessively tapping or caressing it.   
John felt guilt make a nest at the pit of his stomach, the sick feeling and taste of copper in his mouth. 

They fall asleep, both plagued by nightmares and tears.


End file.
